Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are stricken ill after destroying yet another THRUSH satrap. Originally posted for the PicFic Tuesday Challenge on section7mfu on Live Journal. pre-saga


Solo and Kuryakin returned in triumph, having destroyed one of the largest research and manufacturing facilities that was about to go live on the east coast U.S. run by their arch nemesis, THRUSH.

They'd planted number of bombs in strategic locations throughout the sizeable building built in a sparsely populated area outside of Niagara Falls. The agents were in and out, not having been discovered and once arriving at what they deemed a safe distance, the explosives were detonated.

Big mistake...

Unbeknownst to them, highly volatile chemical compounds had already been stored in the building, and when it blew, an immense billowing cloud of noxious fumes was sent into the air, heading right towards them as the wind had suddenly shifted in their direction.

There was nothing they could do, except duck and cover their heads with their jackets and hope for the best. Their efforts did little good and they began choking violently, gasping for air and for a few minutes they both thought they'd suffocate.

Minutes later they were able to catch their breath again and Napoleon pulled his communicator, calling for help from a small field office in Rochester. A doctor, along with a cleanup team arrived in less than an hour and a half, finding both agents sitting on the ground, trying not to move and wheezing slightly. Solo and Kuryakin felt fine, with their breathing returning to normal once they received a dose of oxygen

That seemed to do the trick, and the teams were off in search of any survivors of the blast, though Solo had hit a fire alarm before exiting the building, getting the few THRUSH lackeys there out if harms way before the blast had everything sent to kingdom come.

Napoleon and Illya, once back at headquarters, made their initial reports to Alexander Waverly and afterwards, headed up to medical at their superiors insistence to be checked over. Post-mission checkups were standard operating procedure, but the two men often cajoled and wheedled their way out of these visits to the doctor. This time their attempts at misdirection didn't work and both ended up in Medical.

That was where their troubles began, first with the Russian.

Illya was sitting shirtless on the examination table, the doctor listening to his heart with a cold stethoscope.

"Why," Kuryakin wondered, "could they not warm these things up before using them, he could never understand. He flinched as the doctor placed the icy cold metal bell to his chest.

Knowing the routine, Kuryakin took deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling as the stethoscope was moved from his chest to his back; each time he flinched as it was touched to his skin, but suddenly those flinches turned into muscle spasms, and without warning the Russian toppled from the exam table to the floor with a loud thud, caught in grotesque contortions and muscle spasms; unable to control his body movement.

Doctor Morris Greene sent Nurse Walsh running for help, getting several orderlies to lift the stricken agent from the floor to a gurney, and the examination was begun immediately.

Illya found himself unable to communicate, barely able to utter some groans and grunts as he struggled to calm himself ; a look of confusion and desperation in his eyes signalling his frustration.

.

Napoleon was in another part of Medical, undergoing his own exam when the same thing happened, sending the medical staff into a frenzy.

A quarantine was ordered, including those people who had come in direct contact with the agents, that included Waverly, who was kept in isolation for observation, as well as Wanda and Lisa.

Every test imaginable was performed, leaving the medical staff at a loss. The two men were exhibiting Cerebral Palsy-like symptoms, but there was nothing to indicate that was what they were suffering from.

After twenty-four hours had passed, everyone who'd come in contact with them were released, not having displayed any symptoms at all and their blood-work having come back clean.

It was deemed that whatever had been in the cloud of chemicals that had enveloped Napoleon and Illya, was the cause of their malady. The bad news was there was no residue found on their skin to be tested and nothing conclusive showed up in their blood tests. If it were nerve damage, it would signal the end of two brilliant careers, as these agents would be sent to a permanent facility in upstate New York to be cared for for the remainder of their lives.

Nurse Walsh stood beside Illya's bed, raising it up and tucking an extra pillow behind his head. His body was in a constant state of movement and she felt helpless not being able to anything to make him more comfortable. The railings to the hospital bed had been raised as a safety precaution, and a strap secured around the Russians waist kept him from falling to the floor.

He looked up at her with his soulful blue eyes, his chin jutting out as he struggled to speak, and at first it sounded only like a moan.

"Mwwwwa?"

"Illya, I'm sorry I can't understand you." She went through a litany of words, hoping one of them was right, but apparently none were as he struggled to shake his head 'no' in awkward, spastic movements.

"Mwwwaaa-taaa."

"Water? Oh my God is that what you want Illya?"

He managed to shake his head not too violently this time.

Nurse Walsh picked up a nearby pitcher of ice water, pouring him a glassful, and held it with a straw to his lips, steadiying his head. Illya drank it greedily until it was drained.

"More?"

'Daaaaaaaa."

Nurse Walsh poured him another glass and he emptied that one, and closed his eyes once finished, signalling to her, she supposed, he was no longer thirsty.

She watched him as he seemed to fall asleep, noting the spasms disappeared only then, and at least allowed him to rest with a modicum of peace.

Nurse Walsh had seen many things happen the agents who passed through the Medical wing of UNCLE, but this one disturbed her more than usual. Though a stubborn and sometimes ill-tempered man, the Russian held a special place in her heart, as did Solo.

To see them so helpless simply broke her heart and being a tough duty nurse, that was no easy task to accomplish. She never let them know and in their eyes, she struggled to remain distant, as she needed to stay strong for their sakes.

.

April Dancer sat beside Napoleon's bed, trying to hide her distress at seeing her lover as helpless as a baby. He simply stared at her with his beautiful hazel eyes, unable to speak as he too was racked with uncontrolled spastic movements.

"Darling, I'm here for you, you do know that...wait don't try to answer that," she caressed his cheek with her hand, fighting to hold back her tears. "They'll figure out what this is and fix it," she tried to reassure him. "They always do."

Somehow Solo managed to control his eye movement, and gave her a wink and that one simple gesture brought a big smile to her face.

She sat with him a while longer, telling him the news about Illya displaying the same symptoms, while no one else had been affected, and Medical making the presumption the cause was the chemical cloud from the satrap. April did, however, leave out the fears of permanent nerve damage. They'd cross that bridge when they were forced to, but hopefully not.

Napoleon couldn't answer, but at least he knew what was going on.

April could see by the look in his eyes that he was finally tiring and leaned forward, lightly kissing him on the lips, longing terribly for him to be able to return it. Somehow when she touched him, his trembling ceased and he seemed to be able to respond.

"Caaaaaaankeeeeeeep goooooooooomannnnnndownnn." He spoke, though the effort seemed to exhaust him.

"No not you my darling," April smiled. "Now close your eyes and dream of me making passionate love to you."

"Mmmmmmm," he closed his eyes, smiling just a bit, as he followed her advice.

Once out in the hall, April lost control and tears streamed down her face. Mark Slate was standing at the nurses station and seeing his partner's distress, went immediately to her side.

"It's all right luv, let it out," he wrapped his arms around her in a consoling hug."It's okay."

"Oh Mark, it's awful to see such a virile and vibrant man like Napoleon Solo reduced to..."she wasn't sure what he was now. Even a baby had more control than he did. "To being so helpless."

"Oy, as bad as Napoleon is, I hear Illya is worse."

"Mark darling, would you go to the chapel with me, I need some God-time?"

"Of course, anything for you."

Mark accompanied April to the UNCLE chapel located at the end of the Medical wing. It was a simple room with a few plain benches; unlike the rest of building with it's sterile grey walls, the interior of the room was panelled with a light-colored wood, making it warm and welcoming.

There were a few green ferns in the corners and in the rear hung a modernistic stained glass panel, suspended from the ceiling. Beside it stood a single, tall white candle sitting atop a pillar. When lit, the presence of the flame was to remind those visiting this room of the existence of whatever deity they worshipped, bringing them comfort in time of need.

The overhead lighting was soft, making one focus more on the single flickering flame.

'Better to light a candle than curse the darkness,' April reminded herself of the old Chinese proverb made famous by Eleanor Roosevelt.

It seemed an appropriate thought at the moment, meaning it was better to do something like praying over a problem than bemoaning it, and what had happened to Napoleon and Illya was a big one, perhaps needing some Divine intervention. Though lighting a candle was a small answer to that large problem, April felt it was still a worthy step in the right direction.

She sat on the bench nearest the candle and bowed her head, lost now in thought and prayer.

Mark stood at the back of the room near the door, giving his partner her privacy, but still watching over her. He was not an overly religious man himself, but took the time to ask for God's help with their stricken comrades.

April remained still for a good twenty minutes until she suddenly stood. "Oh my God!" She blurted out.

"What's wrong luv?"

"I just thought of something that might help them, come on Mark." She grabbed him by the arm as she dashed through the door.

She returned to Napoleon's room, finding him still asleep and opened the small wardrobe where an agents belongings were stored while laid up. Sealed in a plastic bag, she found his suit. The one he'd worn that day."

"I bet there'll be chemical residue on these," she whispered to Mark.

Her supposition indeed proved correct and Research and Development were able to retrieve enough residue from both Napoleon and Illya's clothing, as the natural fibers had absorbed the chemicals from the cloud.

A week later Napoleon, now fully recovered stood at his partner's bedside, but in a lip-lock with April, both of them thinking the Russian was still asleep.

"Hey, get a room you two," Illya surprised them as he sat up, adjusting his pillow.

"You could always just keep your eyes closed, tovarisch," Napoleon snickered.

"I am tired of closing my eyes and want to get out of here,' he grumbled in reply.

"Good news Illya," Nurse Walsh walked through the door, "Your wish is my command...you're being released today, and Doctor Greene says you're both fit to return to duty."

"That is good news," Napoleon said. "and we have you April to thank for it."

"Oh, you goose, it wasn't me...it was candlepower that did it."

Both men looked at her quizzically, not sure what to make of that statement...


End file.
